


cloak and dagger

by Scythe



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Adrestian Nobles Dimilix, Anal Sex, Inappropriate use of throne room, M/M, but he's alive here, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scythe/pseuds/Scythe
Summary: "It’s only fair, I suppose, to offer something fit for an Emperor."In which Felix and Dimitri are Adrestian Nobles(2019 Dimilix Exchange)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132
Collections: 2019 Dimilix Holiday Exchange





	cloak and dagger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deplore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/gifts).



> Sometimes I speculate about how their relationship would have been if Duscur never happened  
> April 3, 2020 : If any of you are re-reading this and notice the text being different, it's because I updated with a better polished copy :)

Midnight fell in a tranquil veil around the Adrestian audience chamber where young Emperor Dimitri sat upon the throne, alone with his thoughts amidst the spacious empty hall. Perhaps it was unjust that Enbarr Palace enjoyed peaceful quiet when his country was at war, but keeping his home city safe was a luxury earned with victory.

The palace was sparsely populated while the main army was still en route from successful conquest, so Dimitri was certain he wouldn’t be disturbed while he waited for his personal executor and most trusted confidante. The meeting hadn’t been formally arranged or communicated, but how often had they convened by unspoken understanding alone? It was useful; all those orders and reports delivered in secrecy between the only two people who needed to know. They had information to exchange tonight, so he waited with faithful suspense.

It was over an hour later when the air of loneliness simply dissolved; it was a feeling, nothing more, and nothing more was needed.

“Felix,” he breathed into the stillness, drawing out the last consonant in a low, sibilant whisper between his teeth. Silence answered him, but he could feel the shadows of the throne room smile at him in amusement. He liked to think it was fond, but who knew what shadows really thought.

“Aren’t we too old for these games now?” Dimitri chided after a while. “It’s been many a year since we were children.”

More silence, and now Dimitri smiled too. His eyes scanned the expansive room, lingering on the darkest shapes, catching on the slightest movements. The warm familiarity of Felix’s crest was his only hint, but that didn’t tell him where. He strained his ears, though he had a better chance of hearing falling dust. “Second pillar on the left,” he guessed with more confidence than he felt.

A gloved hand, startlingly near, slid seemingly from the throne itself, over Dimitri’s right shoulder, gliding down to his chest. Dimitri laughed as it grabbed the front of his lapels; he tilted his head back, baring his neck as a sword crossed over his throat from his left.

“Dead,” Felix’s voice taunted from behind him.

“Ah, always close at hand.”

“You’re getting worse at this, Mit’ka,” Felix admonished, withdrawing his blade. The assassin materialized from the shadow of the throne. He still wore the blacks and reds of his professional attire, designed to melt seamlessly in and out of sight. The soft sable of his silk sleeves fluttered around him like a lover’s sigh, rippling noiselessly as he sheathed his sword. It utilized the finest of Empire dyes but paled subtly against the leather vest he wore over it, blacker still, the hard obsidian lines cutting a sleek silhouette around his torso. The engravings on it matched those on his bracers, elegantly detailed despite their chances of being fully appreciated. Reinforced crimson fabric held the armor together at the sides, allowing for the range of movement and flexibility required of someone with Felix’s…responsibilities.

Clearly, the venerable House Fraldarius spared neither effort nor expense outfitting their beloved second son.

“No, you are getting better,” Dimitri countered, standing up to approach Felix. “I heard you got to Count Rowe before Glenn even reached the gates. He said he found you lounging glibly in the great hall with corpses scattered about the tables and chairs, casually waiting for him and his men to arrive. Said you couldn’t even be bothered to open the doors for him.”

“Ah, well, it’s my brother’s job to reap the glory of storming the gates. Wouldn’t make a good tale if someone invited him in, would it?”

“No,” Dimitri conceded, looming over Felix,” but might I remind you that you were supposed to be under his command, not risking your neck fighting six well-armed, well-trained enemies on your own—” 

“This again,” Felix scoffed, though he fell back a step to match Dimitri’s advance. “I know my limits—”

“—Felix, one day you’re going to push too far—”

“—might as well put all of that to good use—"

“—and by then it will be too late, so I can only pray—”

“—mess up, then I’m the only one who pays the price—”

“—Felix!”

The underside of Felix’s knees bumped against the seat of the throne. Their bizarre shuffling dance had taken them around behind the throne to circle back to the front.

“Your life isn’t yours alone to gamble away on profligate stunts,” Dimitri rebuked.

“Isn’t it? My family has a crest-bearing heir already; they don’t care what I do or what happens to me.”

“Your family cherishes you,” Dimitri pointed out.

“Of course, they do,” Felix laughed. “But they don’t _need_ me, right? My father has all these rules for Glenn because my brother has to be a proper Duke someday, but he’s never disallowed me anything.” He enunciated the last word proudly, dripping with misguided recklessness. “Sure, if I die, they’ll be sad, shed a few tears, but in the grand scheme of things, they will move on and the world will keep turning. Glenn is the one shackled to duties; I’m free to spend my life how I want.”

Dimitri sighed heavily with affectionate exasperation. Somehow it often came back to Glenn; the Fraldarius brothers were as close as fur to a cat, but Felix had complicated and conflicting opinions about the extra responsibilities that Rodrigue imparted only on the elder.

Glenn, however, wasn’t _his_ the way Felix was, and he wished Felix would account for that. They’d been through this many times before and Felix had never once listened to him; frankly, he was mystified how obstinately a spoiled noble brat could underappreciate his own value when self-importance should have been the more likely problem.

Today, though, he had a different approach. He put both his hands on Felix’s shoulders and pushed him onto the throne. The Emperor’s strength was no trifle, and the assassin’s knees gave way instantly, plopping his rear unceremoniously on the imperial cushions.

“Hardly an appropriate seat for me,” he said huffed, baffled but mischievous.

“You do not care for propriety. You have sat here before. You will sit here again.”

“Well, yes, but…hey, what are you doing?” Felix tried to escape as Dimitri began to kneel in front of him, but Dimitri sat him back down. “This would be an awkward position to explain if someone were to see us,” he whispered dramatically with wry concern. “Are you trying to get me whipped for impudence?”

As if anyone would dare to suggest punishing him; His Grace, Archduke Rodrigue Fraldarius wouldn’t deny him dessert at dinner, let alone whip him for anything short of regicide. His insolence was already well known throughout the court. Dimitri ignored his protests, waiting patiently on one knee for Felix to catch the hint and settle down.

Finally, Felix’s physical squirming melted into internal discomfiture, realizing Dimitri wasn’t going to let him squabble his way out this time. “Humor me,” Dimitri smiled, producing something wrapped in deep blood red velvet. Laying it across both palms, he presented it to Felix with solemn ceremony.

“Do I even want a gift that warrants this kind of decorum?” Felix sighed, eyes flicking suspiciously between the gift and its giver. 

“That is for you to tell me. Take it.”

For all his impertinence, Felix would never deny his Emperor. The sumptuous fabric slid away as the object passed hands, revealing an ornate black scabbard holding a dagger. Reflective sanguine inlay traced the _lycoris_ blossoms winding around it from point to hilt, the spiny petals tipped with rubies. The handle sticking out of it was designed for practicality over ostentation, though its colors matched the custom scabbard well.

Felix pulled the dagger out, and his eyes widened. “So, Zoltan did make daggers,” he mulled reverently. The craftsmanship was unmistakable even if he’d never seen its like; the existence of a Zoltan dagger was considered a legend.

“Well, he made at least ‘a’ dagger. I wish I could have been more selective, but this was the only one I found.” If Dimitri sounded smug, it would be from his ego inflating at Felix’s instantaneous approval for the gift. 

“Please, the fact you even tried to find one is…” Felix trailed off, sheathing the weapon. There was an obvious effort on his part to meet Dimitri’s eyes, but the more he tried, the more he failed; Dimitri let him struggle. “Dimitri, are you…is this....”

“I am. It is. Will you accept?”

“I…But why? Shouldn’t you be courting some high-born lady who can give you heirs and political leverage? My house has served yours for generations—you gain nothing from me.”

“I gain you,” Dimitri replied readily, patiently, ostensibly unsurprised at the opposition.

“That’s not enough,” Felix persisted fiercely, his brows furrowing. “A Faerghus or Alliance noblewoman after we win the war would smooth over peace talks. You—” He hesitated as if he thought he’d said too much, but continued, more subdued, “You already have me.”

“That is enough,” Dimitri asserted. He planted his palms around the edges of the seat, effectively interrupting Felix’s next protest. Propping himself up, he leaned in to press their lips together in an unabashed gambit to steal away Felix’s objections. Felix returned the demonstration candidly; what was there to hide? Of all their clandestine affairs, this was their worst kept secret.

Once he was satisfied that he’d kissed away Felix’s immediate agitation, Dimitri settled back. “What is not enough about happiness for myself and the person most important to me? Can you not accept that for my sake, if not your own?”

Felix’s lips thinned. “Stop, Mit’ka. Don’t make me argue for my own regrets.”

Dimitri’s countenance brightened; a carefully hidden worry now lifted. In a small corner of his thoughts, he had feared Felix’s devotion did not extend beyond loyalty and friendship and illicit trysts in the dark, but this was the confirmation that his affections were requited. Felix blinked quizzically, unaware that he had answered Dimitri’s only uncertainty.

“Felix, how much longer would you have your Emperor kneel?” Dimitri inquired with new assurance, levity relucent in the blue of his eyes.

“Damnit, Mit’ka,” Felix growled, trying to wrestle Dimitri off the ground without much effect.

“As your Emperor, I am not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Yes! Fine!” Felix groused indignantly and made a show of tucking the dagger into his belt; it would need a more functional sheathe if he planned to take it into combat. “I accept, you boorish fool. Will you stop looking so happy?” he grumbled caustically, barely masking the timbre of wary elation. “I don’t even have anything to give you in return right now.”

“Actually, you’ve already given me Arianrhod; she is a fine gem.”

A wicked grin found its way back on Felix’s face. “I see your taste in gifts. It’s only fair, I suppose, to offer something fit for an Emperor.” He peeled off his left glove and allowed Dimitri to take his hand, but held it just out of range when Dimitri moved to kiss it. “Then to seal my half of the vow, I’ll give you Fhirdiad.”

Dimitri’s smile ebbed a shade. “You are not going to listen to me, but I am obligated to remind you that the prince consort is not to take needless risks.”

In the moment Dimitri’s guard lowered, Felix swung his legs over the armrest and slid, catlike, over and off the plush padding to stand up. “Really, Mit’ka, have I ever failed to come back to you?” He curled an arm behind Dimitri’s neck, drawing him forward; Dimitri had enough height advantage that while kneeling, he could lean his face against Felix’s chest. Today Felix smelled like the woods, earthy, with traces of pine; it teased of a hard ride through a densely forested shortcut, paths taken by lone travelers, untraversable by armies.

“No.”

“Then don’t worry about it.” Fingers threaded through his hair, fondness exuding from their very touch. He couldn’t say Felix’s phrasing brought him any measure of comfort, but the gesture and all that it conveyed did, for Felix was decidedly more eloquent with his actions than his words.

On another day, Dimitri might have been content with relishing the moment, drinking in the contentment of a quiet night with Felix wrapped around him and falling asleep to the steady tides of breath rising and falling beneath his ear. Tonight, Felix’s grip was just a hair too zealous, his breath a shade too coarse, and Dimitri could never tell if Felix intended for his lust to leak through his body language like that, but surely he couldn’t possibly control the quickening heartbeat thrumming against Dimitri’s temples.

He reached up and yanked open the chords on Felix’s vest.

Felix gave a short laugh, simultaneously exasperated and eager. His fingers were much lighter; Dimitri’s cloak landed in a pile and as far as he could tell, it unfastened on its own. It seemed a slight to say Felix worked Dimitri out of his clothes when they seemed so willing to fall away of their own accord, the layers shedding as they came undone under Felix’s fingers; he had his palms over Dimitri’s bare skin by the time Dimitri was done pulling at his pants’ laces.

Felix began to help with his own clothes, but his silk shirt was still half on before his patience ran out and he jumped straight to digging his nails into the hard muscle of Dimitri’s shoulder. He took a greedy, messy kiss that inevitably became possessive lip biting, worrying the flesh between his teeth just hard enough not to break skin. His leg wrapped around and clung like a vine around Dimitri’s waist, which was narrow enough to hook his leg around and strong enough to keep them both upright.

Dimitri broke away for a moment. “The oil. It’s in my—oh.” Felix waved the vial blithely, and Dimitri briefly examined the state of their relationship that Felix would know where he kept it and that he would have it. But Felix was licking strips of fire in the crook of his neck, the trails burning cold in the night air, and chased his thoughts away.

He stood up; it spoke to Felix’s agility that he managed to stay latched on through the lurching motion, only gasping in amused surprise as Dimitri effectively carried him to sit on his throne, Felix draped over him.

Felix left Dimitri to fumble with the oil, being absolutely unhelpful on top of it by distracting him with playful bites along the base of his neck. With Felix kneeling over his lap, he couldn’t even see what he was doing; at least it wasn’t a task that demanded precision. Felix was only persuaded into cooperation when Dimitri finally managed to push a slicked finger inside him.

Grinding his hips down against Dimitri’s hand, Felix loosed a wanton moan that was definitely, assuredly intended to rile Dimitri up and it _worked_. “More,” he urged.

“In time,” Dimitri reprimanded.

In retaliation, Felix wrapped his fingers around Dimitri’s cock, clearly planning to make both of them equally impatient.

Dimitri shot Felix as disapproving a look as he could manage—which is to say, not very—but it did little to nothing against Felix’s extensive experience at this duel of wills and self-control. Felix knew just how hard to squeeze, where to flick his nails, where to pressure. A second finger caused Felix to slow down a little, but the soft keen and harsh breaths that escaped more than made up for it.

The third finger was a concession; they were now in a contest of who could distract the other more, and they were both losing.

“Mit’ka,” Felix breathed enticingly; Dimitri knew Felix was a damn tease, but the knowledge that he was doing it on purpose did nothing to dampen its effects. “Fuck me already.”

Dimitri growled. Gods, he wanted to, and he will, but he didn’t want to give in too early. Felix was still baiting him; he could tell because Felix wasn’t begging, and he’d only made Felix beg once.

Felix leaned close and keened into his shoulder, lust permeating through the vibrations of his voice, and that was the last straw. Dimitri withdrew his fingers, not even caring about the triumphant leer Felix threw him. He grabbed Felix’s hips, lined them up, and pulled him down.

A tense gasp matched his throaty groan. He waited for Felix to move first, for the roll of his hips to dictate the pace.

Needless to say, the quiet of the night was irreparably broken. Dimitri exacted his revenge by wringing the needy cries out of Felix, who clung to him, sometimes mewling into his neck, sometimes towards the high ceiling, always raking angry red lines into his back.

Suddenly, Felix’s head snapped towards the door. Dimitri hadn’t heard anything, and it took him several seconds to reluctantly suspend their activities to look.

Still in armor and lance in hand, Glenn glowered at them from the opposite end of the throne room. Felix’s half-on shirt wasn’t nearly long enough to make any semblance of obscuring that Dimitri’s imperial scepter was completely buried in his little brother’s backside.

Dimitri wasn’t sure who was going to be in more trouble.

Glenn looked like he was considering some very choice words for this whole situation, but ultimately decided to unleash them at a more opportune moment. “The rest of the army is about to arrive,” Glenn grit through his teeth before slamming the door shut. 

“Well, shit,” Felix lilted. “He’s going to kill me.”

“I thought he was going to kill _me_.”

Felix slid teasingly up and then down on his lap. “Then it seems like the thought of being killed gets you off.”

“I was going to say the same to you, except about being caught in the act.”

They laughed. Felix kissed him again. “Let’s finish up before the others get here.”

As if the risk of being caught again indeed helped them to completion faster, they giggled all the way to the finish, and then exchanged mischievous looks as they haphazardly pulled their clothes back on. Well, at least Dimitri was as disheveled as he ought to be after their illicit exertion. Felix remained exquisite, Dimitri thought, aware but uncaring of his extreme bias.

Felix’s naked fingers brushed over the handle of his new dagger. “Can’t wait to sample the Fhirdiad throne cushions,” he hummed, and disappeared into the shadow of a pillar. 

**Author's Note:**

> I had about 10K words of this written describing all the trouble they got into trying to get Fhirdiad, but I didn't like it, so I'm posting just this for now and it might mysteriously have extra chapters later.
> 
> Thank you Kit for prompts! I had too much fun writing and thinking about this, and regret not being an artist to draw what outfits I had in mind (Felix would look AMAZING in black and red)~


End file.
